


That Could Have Gone Better

by Dusty_Forgotten (DustyForgotten)



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 07:00:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11031033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustyForgotten/pseuds/Dusty_Forgotten
Summary: What happens when you put fourteen companions in six cabins, competing for one Survivor's attention? I don't know, but we're sure gonna find out! I'm your host, Erin, and this is Total Drama Co-Op!





	That Could Have Gone Better

**Author's Note:**

> First upload from mobile; let me know how it goes.

MacCready and Deacon have a very singular sort of relationship: they are, at any given moment, companionable— building off each others’ jokes, betting caps they don’t have, making Deacon feel inferior when they go for target practice— or verging on a serious, physical confrontation.

There is no in-between.

Piper and Nick sat in the common area, locked in a rousing game of Go Fish when Deacon bounded between them, rather impressively clearing a chair along the way. MacCready was (predictably) not far behind. Significantly less light on his feet and more pissed off, he shoved the chair out of his way before resuming the chase for someone he had, ten minutes ago, playfully punched in the arm while laughing. The synth looked at the reporter, took her cards, and silently shuffled them back into the pack while she trotted after the two. If someone ended up dead, they’d undoubtedly ask him about it, and he wanted a reliable witness.

“Codsworth, get Preston,” Piper commanded, not far behind.

“Sorry miss, I’m afraid he’s away with the mistress at the moment.”

“Danse, then?”

“As you wish.”

“Bobby, I’m not breaking up with you, but I need some space right now, okay?” Deacon managed to snark him, even while darting back and forth behind a cluster of trees.

“Not gonna happen,” the sniper snarled, reaching between two trunks for him, but Deacon took off. “Fine! Have it your way!” He unshouldered his rifle, but it was yanked from him before he could line up a shot. 

He turned on the most recent offender, and Hancock’s expression practically dared him to try and take it back. If MacCready’s time in Goodneighbor taught him anything, it was not to mess with the mayor. “Get back here!” he snapped instead, running after him.

“What’s going on here!?” Danse demanded, emerging from the warehouse.

“I’m defending  _ your _ honour here, man!”

“In what way?” Danse was used to quashing insubordination— plus the power armour instantly gave him enough advantage over everyone else to mediate. Almost. Usually. MacCready had caught up to them at that point, but Danse had grabbed him by the back of the neck before, and he really wasn’t looking for a repeat performance.

“Well,” Deacon started, inching away from the mercenary, “MacCready may have mentioned that you’re the most whipped boyfriend in existence, so I  _ helpfully _ reminded him that he would totally takeituptheassifsheoffered.”

“C’mere!”

They were both off again, and Danse sighed instead of trying to pursue them. It wasn’t worth it.

Deacon dodged behind one of the co-op buildings: right into a block of green and violence. “Puny human! Strong want to see fight!”

“Stellar idea, but we’re gonna not do that—” But, as he turned to retreat the other way, MacCready blocked it. Between a cabin, a silo, a super mutant, and a sniper.

“Open combat,” Deacon lamented, “not really my forte…”

“Yeah,” MacCready gloated, stalking towards him, “I know.”

“C’mon, we can settle this!”

He dodged just as MacCready swung at him— darted once more, and that put the mercenary between him and the mutant. Unfortunately, a crowd had gathered to witness the brawl, and also block his exit. 

“What about a lockpicking competition! Cait can judge! We all know she likes you better, so you still have the advantage.”

Cait, for her part, called out, “Hit ‘im already!”

“Thanks for your feedback, it’s currently pending administrative approval—!”

MacCready had feinted a hit, and grabbed his shirt with the other hand. He shoved him against the rusted silo, and was poised for a straight to shatter his nose when Deacon babbled, “Okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

The mercenary kept his fist up, goaded, “Sorry for  _ what? _ ”

Deacon, behind his slipping sunglasses, squeaked, “For this?”

Being the kind of paranoid Deacon is, he doesn’t get out of bed without three things: Stimpaks, sunglasses, Stealth Boy. This is particularly important because he’s bunking with MacCready. Of course he’s got them.

Of course he got it primed and waiting while they were talking.

Second he turned it on, MacCready swung, but he ducked too quick, and his fist collided with the empty silo— a painful, reverberating strike. “Shhhhhhhh—” He didn’t have the opportunity to find a cumbersome non-curse before he was stumbling from a kick at his achilles. He swung the direction it came from, and got an elbow to his face, a fist to his stomach. A second of curling forward on himself, and all it took was a foot on his back to get him to the ground. Tried to pull his hands underneath him, pick himself up. Deacon kicked him again.

Codsworth broke the stunned silence with, “Oh dear.”

Cait followed it up. “Now that’s what I call a fight.”

Danse dispersed them moments later, and that was the end of that.

Nick, ignoring the situation and honestly just going for a smoke, found Deacon around the side of his cabin, in an entirely different outfit and putting his sunglasses on over the sideburns of a pompadour. “You know, Deacon,” Valentine spoke up, startling him so hard he had to pull the wig back into place, “everyone here knows who you are.”

He visibly relaxed (the slightest slope of the shoulders, as relaxed as Deacon ever got) when he caught sight of the synth. Nick’s appearance tended to put people on edge. “Yeah, but I’m  _ this close _ to convincing Cait I’m actually a Rust Devil.”

He shielded his lighter, muttering around the cigarette pinched in his teeth, “Sure you are.”

The agent grabbed his rifle from where it was leaned against the wall, threw the strap over his shoulder. “Would you mind telling them I’m gonna be away for a few… however long it takes Wanderer to get back?”

“Or I could not say anything, and pretend I didn’t see you here?”

“Or that, that works too.”

“Careful out there.”

“Believe me, Mr. Valentine, I am.”

Nick didn’t watch him go; Deacon liked it better that way.

“Why didn’t you stop them!?” Piper charged, gait awkward to keep up with steps lengthened by T-60.

“Sometimes, the most important lessons are those that cannot be taught. They’re both insubordinate, in desperate need of discipline, and were it up to me, I’d have them digging ditches in the rain.”

Piper darted in front of him, hand outstretched on the chestplate of his power armour. She couldn’t physically stop him, but she could pester him into stillness. She’s got a lot of practice with that sort of thing. “Why aren’t they, then?”

He stopped, if not only to avoid trampling her. “Piper, you know I don’t have that kind of authority here. No one does.”

She dropped her hands and rocked from toes to heels. “Thank goodness for that.”

Danse took his rifle, heading for one of the dozen guard posts surrounding the co-op. Piper took a notepad from her coat, and a pen from her cap, cap going instantly into her mouth. She ignored the site of the incident in favour of the cabin she shared with Nick Valentine.

“Are you in much pain, Monsieur MacCready?”

Man, he loved the way she said his name. “Oh, don’t worry about me, angel.” This was immediately replaced by a guttural groan as Hancock stepped carelessly on his stomach.


End file.
